


Body Language

by Oniria_Creation



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is a dance teacher, Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, No Angst, Queen (Band) References, Saucy, Smitten Aziraphale, Smitten Crowley, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, salsa - Freeform, soft, totally angst-free
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oniria_Creation/pseuds/Oniria_Creation
Summary: Crowley is Anathema's bridesmaid... best man... whatever. And it's his job to make sure everything goes smoothly so that his friend enjoys her wedding day with Newt. That includes doing ridiculous things like taking a salsa class.Aziraphale Fell is the dance teacher Anathema and Newt want to hire to teach them some dances before the big day. Anathema wants to see one of his classes before hiring him.Let's dance!
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 90





	1. The Salsa Class

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I have ever written. Of all the ideas I have, this has been chosen to start publishing.
> 
> It is totally self indulgent, sweet, fluff and soft. There will be explicit scenes and I will add the corresponding tags when we get to that part.
> 
> Thanks to the Twitter cg Pufferfish Yoghurt Starters for giving wings to my imagination (and nonsense), and thanks to the wonderful AppleSeeds for helping me with grammar and other typos.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is Anathema's bridesmaid... best man... whatever. And it's his job to make sure everything goes smoothly so that his friend enjoys her wedding day with Newt. That includes doing ridiculous things like taking a salsa class.
> 
> Aziraphale Fell is the dance teacher Anathema and Newt want to hire to teach them some dances before the big day. Anathema wants to see one of his classes before hiring him.
> 
> Let's dance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fanfiction I have ever written. Of all the ideas I have, this has been chosen to start publishing.
> 
> It is totally self indulgent, sweet, fluff and soft. There will be explicit scenes and I will add the corresponding tags when we get to that part.
> 
> Thanks to the Twitter cg Pufferfish Yoghurt Starters for giving wings to my imagination (and nonsense), and thanks to the wonderful AppleSeeds for helping me with grammar and other typos.
> 
> Enjoy!

Crowley looked at all the couples around him. Almost all were married couples of advanced age. Sigh. Ballroom dancing. Why? He couldn't understand... Ok, no, of course he understood, Anathema was his best friend and of course he would accompany her wherever she asked, especially knowing that poor Newt was doing everything possible to get all the work done and not miss these matters. Wedding matters.

Crowley was thoughtful for a moment... Did that make him a bridesmaid? Bridesman? No, best man? But Anathema was a bride so...

A woman in her late sixties wearing a striking orange wig winked at him and Crowley blushed uncomfortably, he was not prepared for this, even if he was the best man... maid... Argh.

"Anathema, remind me, why am _I_ here?" he asked the young brunette who, next to him, placed the round-rimmed glasses in a case.

"Well, because Newt couldn't join me, Crowley, and I need to know if this Mr. Fell is good enough to hire him," Anathema answered patiently.

"I already know that, but ... why?" growled Crowley.

"You're going to have fun, you like to dance."

"I like to dance jumping on the floor of the hall in massive concerts with rock music blasting my ears, Anathema!" Crowley snapped, pointing to the T-shirt he was wearing with a glittery Queen band print across the chest. "This is... this is salsa, this is ballroom dancing or something, this isn’t my style at all."

"I know Crowley, but it's just a class, I just want to know if the teacher is good enough to hire him to teach Newt and me to dance for our big day, it will only be today, I promise you." Anathema looked at him with her almond-shaped eyes wide and pleading. Argh, puppy eyes. Crowley grunted something unintelligible and reached for his shirt in frustration.

There was a commotion in the room where they were, couples positioning themselves the length and breadth of the place, mirrored walls from floor to ceiling, and he felt Anathema tap him on the arm. He looked down and saw that his friend was handing him a spare hair tie, she had already tied her hair up, but Crowley was looking at the hair tie as if it were a personal affront. It had taken a long time to get his long auburn hair to show nearly perfect curls. He grudgingly took the hair tie, and they positioned themselves where they couldn't get in the way of the other couples.

"Good morning everyone, class!" a deep and joyful voice greeted, and everyone greeted in turn animatedly. "I see we have new faces today, nice to have you with me today! I have prepared a class that I hope will be fun for everyone! It is a bit out of our usual routine ..."

Crowley looked disinterested, his gaze wandering around the room, wondering what was the fun of a dance class. And then he saw him.

The professor, Mr. Fell, was not at all what Crowley had imagined. Well, not that he would ever have imagined a ballroom dance teacher, but if he had, it would not be like the vision in front of him.

Perhaps, if someone had forced him to imagine Mr. Fell just minutes ago, he would have said he was a muscular young man with a fake tan, in tight-fitting V-neck tees, like the monitors in gyms. Although to be fair, this was a serious and expensive dance academy. So the dance teacher was... different.

  
  


Crowley couldn't help studying the man with his gaze. Cream-colored sportswear hugged his body, he was far from being the typical muscular guy, his body showed slight curves in his torso and his thighs filled the pants.

"For the new ones, I see that you are in position with your partners, but I would like you to come to the front, don't be shy, we are among friends," said the man, directing his gaze to the only new couple in the room: Anathema and him.

Crowley felt it hard to swallow when he looked at Fell's smiling face, his cheeks rounded by the bright smile, eyes of indescribable color at this distance, and his platinum blonde hair, almost white, that reflected the intense light from the ballroom.

The noise of the door opening caught the attention of everyone present. A young man with dark hair and tousled appearance, with foggy glasses and puzzled look, looking desperate ...

"Er... I'm sorry for the intrusion..." Newt apologized, moving quickly to Anathema's side and giving her a light kiss on the lips before greeting Crowley.

"Oh don't worry! The more the merrier!" said the dance teacher, keeping the smile. "Come here all three, as I was saying, since it is your first class, I don't want you to miss anything".

The young couple approached without question, Anathema tugging excitedly at Newt, but Crowley hesitated.

Without Anathema he had been left without a dance partner, it was his time to leave, but he felt Fell's intense gaze on him.

"Well, yeah, I'm alone now so maybe I should go ..." he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Oh, don't say that, please come closer, I'll be your dance partner," announced the teacher, holding out a hand towards him.

Crowley swallowed hard but felt unable to refuse the invitation. He crossed the room in what seemed like the longest minutes and took Fell's hand, perfect and warm and soft.

"Alright class, let's try something more fun today: salsa!" Fell announced happily, and the audience cheered and applauded at the news. "I know, I know, many of you have asked me, so let's get to it."

Fell took a small remote control and frowning he hit play, and the music began to play, Crowley did not recognize the song, but it was a Latin rhythm that invited everyone to dance, but it did not matter, because while Fell spoke and explained the first steps of salsa, he was taking the opportunity to look closely at the dance teacher.

From across the room Crowley had seen Fell's steady figure, but up close Crowley had no words to describe him. He was not simply attractive, his face seemed carved by angels themselves (although Crowley did not believe in angels, until now), his gray-blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he addressed the class, and his smile could stop the heart of someone, as Crowley feared was what had happened to him.

Fell had not let go of his hand in all this time, perhaps he did not trust Crowley to stay, but the redhead had no intention of leaving his place next to that man.

"Ok, let's begin!" Fell announced, and raising the hand that was holding Crowley as if they were already dancing, he began to explain the initial position of the legs for salsa dancing.

Crowley followed the instructions as best he could, trying to quiet his mind. As he looked ahead, his gaze met Anathema's, who was smiling mischievously at him, as if she could read his thoughts. He, feeling his cheeks burn and concentrating on correctly positioning his legs, looked down, feeling the warmth of Fell's body beside him.

The explanation of the first step was over, and the couples began to practice to the rhythm of the music.

"Shall we, dear?" Aziraphale asked, turning to him again. "Do you prefer to lead the dance or do you want me to do it?"

Crowley looked into those shimmering, color-changing eyes fixed directly on him.

"Nnh dunno, I ... You better lead, I wouldn't know what to do," he stammered, feeling very hot and his legs made of jelly.

"Oh, it's very easy and intuitive, you just have to tell me with your body what you want me to do," Fell replied cheerfully, oblivious to the responses he was provoking in Crowley's body.

"Let's start at the beginning ..." Fell turned Crowley until they were facing each other, his free hand on Crowley's shoulder blade, and placed Crowley's hand on his shoulder. This man radiated a placid warmth and his clothes were soft to the touch, and his shoulder was firm under the fabric.

"Left foot forward stepping with your right foot backwards, good... Now you lift your right foot, place it back in the same place, good ... and close your feet together on the center ... Easy and slow, one and two and three .. very good! Again, one and two and three ... "

The first step was easy, followed by the second part: right foot back.

That Fell praised every time Crowley took the steps correctly was turning the redhead into a puddle of goo.

"Well, dear, transfer your weight back on five lifting up your left foot... placing it back in place on six, good, and closing your feet together on seven... well, you got it! Easy, right?"

That Crowley could count to seven by moving both legs in sync and not melt under Fell's gentle touch and firm direction in the dance was a true miracle.

He kept his gaze down, watching his and Fell's legs move in unison ... dancing. Well, Fell danced, Crowley wasn't quite sure what he was doing, other than trying to keep breathing.

"Oh dear, you are so tense, this should be fun!" Fell observed, smiling at him after Crowley stumbled.

"'m sorry, I just don't know how ..."

"Don't apologize, it's normal, just relax your shoulders and let your knees move your waist, let yourself go! You're doing great!"

Crowley couldn't help but smile. The man was simply charming, and even for a little less than an hour, Crowley settled down to enjoy salsa dancing with him.

After a couple more stumbles, Fell gave him the scariest advice Crowley could have imagined.

"You get confused standing up because you don't stop looking at your feet, and besides, you're going to get dizzy"

"And where do I look?" Crowley asked with a snort.

"You can look at me," Aziraphale answered confidently. "Your partner will appreciate you watching her while you dance together, it's more ... intimate."

Crowley looked up at last and met Fell's again.

"I-I don't have a ... dance partner. Well ... I don't have a partner in general," Crowley found himself saying, absorbed in those eyes and checking that his feet could move on their own. Aziraphale's smile widened a little.

"I've just been accompanying Anathema, my friend," Crowley explained, because it seemed very important to clarify this point.

"Oh, and she dumped you, I see," Fell joked.

"Yeah, well, I’ve been winning with the change," slipped Crowley, and watched with pride Fell's cheeks were flushing.

A few more minutes passed like this, and the class had to continue. Fell's hand left Crowley's body and led him back to face the class.

"Very well, I see that the first step is controlled, let's add a little difficulty, shall we?"

The class nodded animatedly, awaiting instructions.

"Well, to make the dance a little more fun and have more dimension, we are going to practice the cross body lead. For those of you leading the dance: remember that you are the ones who have to keep the rhythm and show your partner when to are you going to perform this step, okay?"

Telling your partner what you want with your body, Crowley thought, biting his lower lip, wondering what else Fell's body could ask of him.

He shook his head slightly, trying to ignore those thoughts and focus on the explanation of the step.

"Mind if we demo for the class?" Fell asked, addressing him again.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he replied nonchalantly, as if dancing salsa being led by the most attractive man in the world was something Crowley did every day.

He felt Fell's hand on his shoulder blade again and, looking at each other, Fell began to lead the dance.

"Ok, so one and two and three and four..." the blonde counted the steps without taking his eyes off Crowley. He could feel the blonde's muscles under his hand, his slight pressure on his back, under Fell’s hand as he showed him it was time for the cross body move. Crowley had managed to stop thinking about his feet, aware only of his bright changing-colour eyes fixed on his own, and simply let his body react.

The body cross worked, more gracefully on Fell's part than Crowley's, but without stumbling. Crowley called it a success.

"Well done!" Fell praised him again, getting a strange growl from the redhead in response and went back to the class. "Practice it for a few minutes now, and since there is little time left until class is over, you can practice with a few turns if you're feeling brave," Fell announced, clearly addressing his more advanced dancers.

"Do you want us to practice together?" he asked Crowley when the rest of the class started dancing.

"Of course, why not?"

Fell giggled at his answer, but resumed dancing, Crowley in his arms.

Crowley looked at the clock on the wall, and it was true that class time was ending. So much time had passed? But only one song had played... or had there been several?

It was difficult to keep track of the songs and the time when he felt Fell's body so close, moving with innate grace, his muscles flexing gracefully with each movement.

"Did you like this first class?" Fell asked doubtfully. Crowley looked into his eyes again, pulling them away from the wall clock.

"Yeah, it wasn't bad, I've never danced salsa before," Crowley replied, fearing that the blonde would think he was getting bored when he actually wanted to have more time to continue dancing with him. "I didn't think it was my style, but I'm liking it."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it!" Fell seemed genuinely pleased that Crowley had made a good impression. "Besides you are learning the steps quickly, you will dance salsa very well in no time!"

Crowley blushed but didn't look away, and grinned.

"I prefer rock, though," he admitted.

"I would never have guessed it dear," teased the blond, lowering his eyes to Crowley's chest, admiring Queen's crest. Crowley swallowed hard at the sight of Fell's eyes roaming his torso. "Is that bebop music danceable?"

Bebop? Someone help him, he was not only handsome but charmingly old-fashioned.

"Of course it is, maybe I could teach you some steps." Crowley didn't know where the bravery came from, but there he was, offering to teach a dance teacher his hideous rock-dancing moves.

"I'd love to, in exchange for you letting me take you salsa dancing properly," replied the blond, with such intensity in his gaze that Crowley gasped momentarily.

"'Course. Sure. Anytime," the words stumbled from his lips and, totally distracted, he misplaced his feet and stumbled very inelegantly.

Fell smiled again and gave him a moment to regain his rhythm, before continuing to dance.

"Do you want to try something new?" he asked, and Crowley nodded, a little flustered.

  
  


"Okay, get on with the basic move, okay? Let's try a turn," Fell announced. "Ok, one two three four ..."

The blond started the cross body lead, releasing Crowley for an instant and changing the hand that was holding Crowley's, raising it and inviting him to cross through the arch that his arms had formed. Crowley did so and did a full turn, feeling Fell's hands on him again, and meeting his gaze, Crowley couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. His hand rested on Fell's shoulder again.

"It worked?!" Crowley asked, his body moving only in time with the music.

"You did a perfect turn, dear!"

The minutes passed, and Crowley could tell that for the first time he was dancing. Not jumping to the beat of the drums, but dancing, with his body in a strange and novel synchrony.

"I must admit that it is fun. Dancing salsa, I say."

"I'm so glad you're liking it ..."

"Crowley" introduced himself.

"Aziraphale," he replied with a smile.

"Nice to meet you," Crowley said, feeling stupid after introducing himself fifty minutes late. Should have come first, shouldn’t it? First you introduce yourself and then you dance salsa.

The dance teacher giggled again, narrowing his eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Crowley."

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo!  
>  The first chapter and the first dance class has concluded!  
>  More dancing and more music coming soon!
> 
> The title of the fic is inspired by the Aziraphale phrase "you just have to tell me with your body what you want me to do", and of course, referring to the song of the same name by Queen.
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on Twitter: @Oniria_Creation.


	2. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley make an important decision after salsa class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Aziraphale's POV.
> 
> Aziraphale feels a bit guilty (okay, this is angst-free and will remain so).  
> Videos of dance competitions.
> 
> Unleash the fluff!
> 
> Thanks to Twitter gc Pufferfish Yoghurt Starters, I wouldn't be able to do this without your help.
> 
> Thanks to AppleSeeds for being such a wonderful beta.
> 
> I hope you like it!!

All the dance halls of the academy had already closed, the lights were off, and it had been verified that no one had been left behind in the bathrooms.

Aziraphale went into the small break room and put the kettle to heat. He dropped into one of the chairs and hid his face in his hands.

The sound of the door opening and closing, and light footsteps approaching him, did not make him lift his face. Behind him, someone was taking two cups out of the little cupboard where they kept the tea and sugar.

"A hard day, pet?" a feminine and affectionate voice asked. "Fridays are always the worst day, people are crazy when it’s almost time to party."

Aziraphale hummed reflectively, or exasperatedly, he didn't have the strength to think. His classes had been simple and good all day, until...

"I went to your salsa class today" the woman began, her voice adopting a teasing tone "it was very... _instructive_..."

Aziraphale growled, fearing the worst.

"In an hour you only showed the first steps and the cross body lead ..."

Aziraphale raised his face and looked at the woman. Extremely slim, wrapped in a brightly colored shawl that fell to her knees, with a sharp face and an orange wig that hid her real hair, Tracy was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smile that did not bode well.

"Ugh, I know!" Aziraphale exclaimed, the shadow of guilt drawn on his face. "I don't know what happened to me!" he apologized.

"Oh boy, I do know!" the woman laughed affably. "I'm surprised that you managed to explain the first steps, honestly, I would have forgotten to even speak."

Aziraphale snorted a bitter laugh.

"It was unprofessional of me," he muttered disconsolately.

"Oh no, no, darling, no." Tracy patted him affectionately on the shoulder before pouring the boiling water into cups, with their tea bag and sugar.

"You got a little distracted, but it's normal, that man was really attractive, wasn't he?"

Aziraphale muttered affirmatively.

"He was beyond handsome, Tracy. I've never seen anyone like him."

"Oh dear, you are a dancer, you have seen many attractive men in our world," Tracy laughed, trying to downplay the matter. She handed him the steaming mug.

"Well, and do you think he's going to sign up for your classes? He seemed just as happy as you this afternoon," she asked curiously.

Aziraphale took the mug in her hands and looked at Tracy with wide eyes.

"What is it, Aziraphale?"

Between sips of tea, Aziraphale recounted the rest of his encounter with Crowley to his friend.

  
  


Dancing with a newbie was always a bit frustrating, but he was a teacher. He was a good teacher, and he loved his job, and he loved dance.

He wouldn't have opened the dance academy together with Tracy all those years ago if he didn't love teaching dance, and that feeling hadn't changed one iota.

It was a much friendlier world than competitive dance, Aziraphale had left that stage of his life behind knowing that if he continued, he would end up hating dancing. And he _loved_ dance.

But that didn't take away from the fact that, when dancing with a newbie, Aziraphale had to restrain his movements which were already a matter of muscle memory. He didn't usually dance with the students, especially the first day. Or potential students, at least. He held back and they got frustrated, and then they gave up and abandoned the idea of signing up for class.

That’s how the human brain works.

But that day, Aziraphale had been selfish. He knew it. Tracy knew it. And probably everyone present that afternoon knew it too.

That adorable couple in love were getting ready to dance together and their friend, _Crowley_ , had assumed that without a partner, he would have to go.

Aziraphale had looked at the man and decided, in a split second, that this salsa session he would dance with a newbie to teach the class.

He was tall, quite a bit taller than Aziraphale. Dressed from head to toe in black except for the print on his T-shirt, which he instantly recognized as the crest of the rock band Queen (of course he knows Queen, who doesn't?).

But when he looked closely at his face... Aziraphale feared he wouldn't be able to remember how to breathe.

The man had a face impossible to forget. High and prominent cheeks, straight jaw, eyes of an intense and unusual amber color, beautiful and expressive. His eyebrows seemed to have a life of their own, rising and furrowing as he concentrated, when he spoke, when he smiled... Oh, Good Lord, Aziraphale had never noticed anyone's eyebrows before.

And his hair. He wore long, wavy copper hair, with ringlets that fell down his shoulders and back.

Yes, Aziraphale had met many handsome men, dancers with _perfect_ bodies, men who dedicated themselves to being _perfect_ because of their profession. But Crowley was natural. Genuinely natural, and Aziraphale had never met anyone like this in his life.

And the class hour had flown by without realizing it, too focused on the amber eyes, on how Crowley's body moved, stiff at first from inexperience, but sinuous and fluid with each passing minute. And the heat of his body...

Aziraphale felt tremendously guilty for thinking that way of this pleasant man, who had only come to his class to accompany his friends. And Aziraphale had been selfish, getting carried away by his emotions as if he were twenty years old again.

Perhaps he would not have been if he had known that Crowley's friends, the adorable young couple, were planning their wedding and were planning to hire him as a dance teacher for their big day.

He wouldn't have been so selfish, drinking every minute in Crowley's presence during class, had he known that for the next several months he was going to teach Crowley's best friends to dance.

"Well, you've enjoyed dancing with that man, I don't think it's that bad" Tracy consoled, after hearing his story. "Have you accepted the job?"

"Of course I have accepted it. The couple is charming, it is not their fault that I don’t know how to behave," Aziraphale growled, blushing and feeling his heart hammer in his chest just remembering his behavior.

"Enough, Aziraphale" Tracy scolded. "You have gotten carried away, today, the first time in how long, ten years, what have you been a teacher? Plus all the previous ones as a professional dancer?"

The man nodded slowly.

"You are human, my dear boy, accept it, and you liked that man, these things happen, they are even good."

Tracy was right.

"You should take the opportunity and ask his friends for his phone number, and ask him for a drink," added the woman, resolute.

Ok, Aziraphale didn't agree with her so much anymore. He was not going to involve this couple or ask them for Crowley’s phone number while they were his clients. That was certainly unprofessional.

He could always wish Crowley would show up one day, unexpectedly, to pick up his friends for example, and then he'd ask for his phone number.

* * *

Crowley was not often at a loss for words. He always had an answer for everything, often bragging about his wit and quick-thinking to respond scathingly to everything and everyone.

Unless, it seems, a handsome dance teacher made him dance with him, looking into his eyes. So, Crowley had checked, he was only capable of short sentences and guttural grunts.

Perfect. During Dance Hour he had demonstrated a lack of eloquence that he would remember for the rest of his life.

Not content with it, he had gotten excited about the stupid dance and was glad when the twist had worked for him.

_"You did a perfect turn, dear!"_ Fell had exclaimed... no, _Aziraphale_ , and he had smiled so sincerely that his legs had shaken.

But the worst. The worst of all. What would really torture Crowley to the Apocalypse... was that Anathema had seen it all, and would never let it pass.

"Why didn't you give him your phone number?" she had asked nothing else when they left dance school.

Alone in his home, a spacious, modernist Mayfair apartment, Crowley allowed himself to think about his friend's question.

Why hadn't he given him his phone number?

1 - He had panicked.

2 - He had made a fool of himself with his lack of vocabulary.

3 - He had offered to teach him how to dance rock music. Well this might have looked adorable, and naive.

4 - He had made it clear that he did not have a partner, but Aziraphale had not said anything about him. He could have a partner. He could be married, with children, two dogs and a summer house in Cadiz.

5 - Crowley had lost skills when it came to flirting.

In any case, Crowley had lost _his_ chance.

This didn't mean he couldn't fix it. Crowley was good at fixing things, it was as simple as going one day to pick up his friends and ask him out on a date. It wasn't that complicated.

Stretching out his long arms, Crowley was on his way to take a shower when his phone vibrated on the kitchen island. A message from Anathema that contained a link, a video. He deliberated about to open it or not. He loved and appreciated Anathema, but the girl had a habit of sending him videos and articles on esotericism and conspiracy theories, and Crowley was not inclined to spend the next half hour listening to someone talk about how salt lamps improved concentration. (Crowley had a salt lamp, a gift from Anathema, and it didn't help him focus, but it wasn't a bad thing either, and it gave his bedroom a certain mystical air with its soft orange light.)

In the end, curiosity got the better of him and he opened the link. The app opened and the video's title froze him on the site.

"Charleston Shuffle, Electrowing, ILHC 2018, Aziraphale Fell Solo Finals"

When the finalists were announced in the video and the music started playing (a fusion of jazz, swing and electronic music), people started clapping and cheering.

Among the finalists, dressed in shades of gray and black, stood out Aziraphale dressed in shades of cream and gold, with a velvety vest from which a gold chain hung, and a matching fedora that hid his wild platinum curls.

To the beat of a heavily modified version of "Hit the Road Jack," Aziraphale stepped onto the center of the dance floor, and began to move.

Crowley felt unable to take his eyes off him. Aziraphale's generous body moved with graceful fluidity, his feet gliding, ignoring all traction, at such speed that he seemed to spend more time in the air than on the ground itself. As he danced, his legs and arms moved in perfect sync, creating impossible shapes and turning on himself.

When he took off his hat and started to play with it, to _dance_ with it, Crowley felt his gut begin to do funny things inside him.

Aziraphale's face was serene, as if dancing in a 1920s gangster outfit was _boring_ even. His suit jacket billowed with his every move, his waistcoat hugging him with every flex of his arms, and Crowley found himself giving a ridiculous groan at his cell phone screen.

The video ended, too soon for Crowley's liking, who was still standing in the kitchen, not moving, the image of Aziraphale dancing effortlessly etched on his retina.

"Ok, just one more video and I'm going to shower," he told himself.

"Aziraphale Fell, dance competition" he muttered under his breath as he typed on his cellphone using only his index finger.

Immediately, the videos appeared on his screen. All from years ago. Salsa, samba, cha-cha, quickstep, pasodoble ... (Crowley only knew the names of these dances). The samba one looked promising, but one caught his eye.

Tango.

Crowley knew what a tango was (and not only because years ago he had seen 'Moulin Rouge' with Anathema). He clicked on the link and immediately regretted it when he saw a young Aziraphale appear with a fierce look of determination in his eyes (which he now knew were between blue and gray). His face did not show the kind lines that surrounded his eyes when he smiled, and his body was much thinner, his competition suit (this time black and made of elastic material) did not leave much to the imagination. And Crowley had _too much_ imagination.

A young girl with black hair neatly tied up in a tight bun and wearing an open dress appeared in the ballroom, and the two met in the middle.

The girl's long legs intertwined with Aziraphale's at a dizzying pace, and the blond teacher led the dance with fierce sensuality.

Crowley closed the video, feeling his heart hammer in his chest, felt his body burn under his clothes, and when he closed his eyes he could see again the look of determination and confidence of the dance teacher.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and headed for the shower again, this time reaching his destination, taking off Queen's shirt on the way and tossing it in the laundry basket. His bathroom was modernist, all straight lines and in black dotted with notes of red.

He turned on the faucet, let the water flow until it was hot, and stepped into the huge glass-enclosed shower.

With all his might, preventing his thoughts from drifting onto more _troublesome_ ones, Crowley made up his mind: he would summon the courage to see Aziraphale again and ask him out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, for now we are exploring the feelings of our boys.
> 
> Next Sunday there will be more dancing and more fluff! Happy week!
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on twitter: @Oniria_Creation


	3. The note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale receives an unexpected note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there are still doubts: no, it is nothing bad, nothing bad is going to happen in this fic. Big fluffy fan, me.
> 
> Thank you Pufferfish Yoghurt Starters for helping me and encouraging me to write.
> 
> Thanks to the great AppleSeeds for being a wonderful beta.
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> I hope you like it!!

On Monday morning, as he had promised to the young couple in love, Aziraphale wrote them a very cordial email indicating the free hours he had available during the week, so that they could choose which one suited them best according to their work and preference.

It did not take long for the couple to respond, setting the appointment for sessions on Thursdays late in the morning, before lunch. It was a good hour, the academy in the morning was quiet, Aziraphale only had a couple of senior ballroom dance classes on Thursday mornings, and luckily Tracy's all-age pole dance classes were only in the evenings.

It was her most in-demand class.

After the fiasco on Friday, Aziraphale managed to teach normally during the week. Not thinking about Crowley at all didn't work, but he managed not to think about him during class. However, in the moments alone he allowed himself to recreate the memories of Crowley in his arms, and with each passing day his resolve to speak with him if he had the opportunity again grew stronger.

And so Thursday came faster than Aziraphale imagined.

The 11 o'clock class (quickstep today, attendees had a lot of fun) had just ended, the dancers were drinking water and discussing the steps with Aziraphale when a mechanical roar echoed in the street outside the academy. One of the men who was lounging next to his partner near the window gasped in surprise.

"That really is a car!" he exclaimed aloud, unable to contain himself. Of course, they all came like children to look out the window, their faces against the glass.

Aziraphale had never felt that attraction to cars, his driver's license had expired and he had never really used it, so he saw no need to rush to look out the window.

"And that really is a  _ man _ !" exclaimed one of the women, causing laughter among the others.

Aziraphale smiled, shaking his head. No matter how old they were, they still looked like a bunch of teenagers.

"Oh, isn't that the man who came to salsa class last Friday?" asked another woman, a regular student and a very good dancer.

Aziraphale felt his pulse quicken and, trying not to sound too eager, he walked to the window at last.

Indeed, there was Crowley. His long coppery hair gathered in a manbun, and his long and fine body, again dressed all in black, rested absentmindedly on what must have been his car, a vintage beauty, completely black and shiny.

He felt his mouth go dry. All his courage faltered for a moment. He didn't expect Crowley to show up again so soon, although it wasn't an unpleasant surprise at all.

Crowley lifted his head toward the academy windows, and Aziraphale felt his heart skip a beat.

"Well class, that's it for today!" he finally announced, turning away from the window in bewilderment, even knowing that it was impossible that Crowley had seen him from the pavement. "Do not forget anything, I’m going to lock the classroom today, what you leave behind now you will not be able to pick up until this afternoon at four!".

After the general commotion and after saying goodbye to all the couples, the teacher locked the door and went down to the ground floor of the academy. He looked at his watch, there were still several minutes until the next class, with Anathema and Newt, who should be arriving shortly.

If he went out into the street, he would come face to face with Crowley.

What was he doing here alone? Was he going to participate in the class? Was the boyfriend, Newt, going to be absent the first day and Crowley came to join his friend again?

Should Aziraphale come out and invite him into the academy? It was a cold February morning, and it would be very rude to leave him waiting in the cold instead of offering him a hot cup of tea. He could wait for his friends inside the dance academy, it was only good manners, it wouldn't mean  _ nothing _ having him in the break room drinking tea, the two of them alone. Absolutely nothing, completely normal, Aziraphale felt perfectly normal.

Furthermore, he had made a promise to himself. He had to dare to speak to Crowley, he had already regretted enough all week not being brave enough last Friday.

He took a deep breath and yanked open the academy door, with more force than required, and as he had feared, he found himself face to face with Crowley, who looked up from his phone, his eyes hidden behind stylish sunglasses. The look of surprise on his face quickly changed into a smile and Aziraphale thought he saw a flush on his cheeks, but it could well be from the cold air.

"Hey, 'Ziraphale, good morning," greeted the redhead, and Aziraphale felt his knees shaking.

"Good morning Crowley" he managed to say, returning his smile. "I saw you through the window of one of the dance halls, well, actually the whole class saw you arrive, your car caused a great stir among my dancers."

_ And you too have caused quite a stir _ , he thought to himself, too absorbed in Crowley's presence.

"My old Benny, always causing a sensation wherever she goes," Crowley joked, patting the hood of the car affectionately.

"... Benny?"

"Benny the Bentley," Crowley replied, and Aziraphale was sure that this time the flush on his cheeks was not from the cold. "It's a stupid name, I know, but..."

"Oh no, it's funny, Benny the Bentley, really clever," the blond rushed to reply. "And it does cause a sensation."

_ As you do _ , he was tempted to say, especially when Crowley's smile widened.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, suddenly remembering why he had decided to go out to meet Crowley.

"Actually, Crowley, I wanted to invite you to come into the academy to wait for your friends, perhaps with a cup of hot tea."

"Nnhh... I don't want to be a bother, I've come because Anathema left her purse at my house and she has asked me to return it to her today, here..." he gestured with his hand making waves in the air. "I'll give it back to her and go, I don't want to be a hindrance while they dance, be like... a third wheel or something like that," he laughed uncomfortably.

"Oh well, as you prefer, of course... but still, until they arrive, you can come in with me and not be cold here on the street," Aziraphale offered, feeling a bit deflated at the prospect of Crowley leaving again, but he was right. He had no reason to stay. Maybe he even had plans.

Crowley smiled and opened his mouth to reply, when a cheerful feminine voice called out.

"Crowley!" greeted the girl, Anathema, approaching them along with Newt, walking together, arm in arm. Aziraphale sighed. Again he had lost the opportunity. "Mr. Fell! Good morning to you both!"

"Good morning, Anathema. Newt." Aziraphale greeted, forcing his most professional smile.

Crowley growled in front of him. He opened the back door of the Bentley and took out a purse that looked Edwardian, made of navy blue velvet with a silver clasp, which would fit in Crowley's palm.

"Here, your wallet," he snapped, tossing her the velvet pouch, although a piece of paper flew in the direction of Aziraphale, who caught it on the fly.

It was a small note folded in half. Aziraphale turned to the young woman and handed her the paper.

"This almost fell to the ground, dear."

"Nnnggk actually... not hers," Crowley said in a shy small voice. "It's... it's silly, it's..." Crowley removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can open it, it was for you anyway."

Aziraphale could feel how embarrassed Crowley was. The glances of Newt and Anathema jumping from one to the other of the two men intermittently. Finally curiosity got the better of him and he opened the note.

A phone number, with Crowley's name next to it, was all he had written, but Aziraphale didn't need much more.

"Oh Crowley..." Aziraphale couldn't help but grin at him, feeling his own cheeks burn, completely forgetting being out in the street without a coat in the middle of February, forgetting even Anathema and Newt, who were looking at them curiously.

Finally Crowley opened his eyes and smiled back shyly.

"You don't have to... if you don't want to... I just..." he muttered under his breath.

"Crowley," the blond stopped him, lightly placing his hand on the redhead's arm. "If Anathema and Newt agree, why don't you stay with us today?" he asked, unable to stop smiling and feeling brave.

_ Stay with me a while longer, Crowley, please, until I can call you and have a real date _ , he asked silently, fixing his eyes on those expressive amber eyes that looked at him with equal intensity.

"Oh yeah, what a good idea!" Anathema exclaimed.

"Yes, Crowley, stay, this is all because of you," Newt added, smiling with sincere gratitude.

Crowley grunted an affirmation. "Fine, let's go inside, I'm freezing to death out here."

  
  


Aziraphale led them to the break room. Aziraphale knew he wasn't going to be able to focus again, not with the note Crowley had written with his phone number on burning him in his pocket, or feeling Crowley's gaze on him. And if he had to dance with him again, which he wanted with all his soul, he knew that the moment he felt Crowley's warmth under his hands, Aziraphale would be unable to focus on teaching the lovely couple to dance.

Plan B.

Tracy had taught him a trick years ago, when he was starting to teach dance and take individual clients, if during the first session they felt insecure and the client seemed not to know what they wanted, the best thing was to get them to talk and find out what it was that the client wanted to take from their classes.

This trick should work today. Therefore, he sat them around the table and while preparing tea for the four of them, he asked.

"Well, tell me more about your big day so I can get an idea of what you want and what dances will suit you best."

When the water boiled, Aziraphale filled the four cups and handed them the tea, milk, and sugar, and himself sat between Anathema and Crowley.

It was a small room and the four of them were a little tight, and for an instant Crowley's knee bumped lightly against Aziraphale's, causing an electric feeling to run through Aziraphale's body, who bit his lower lip as he tried to listen to the couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE A COVER FOR THE FIC!  
> Thank you Andrea! Your art is wonderful and the cover fascinates me!  
> If you haven't seen it yet, you can see it in the first chapter!
> 
> And you can see Andrea's art here:
> 
> [ @acsalva_art ](twitter.com/acsalva_art)
> 
> Thank you and have a great week!


	4. 'Tapas' at Don Mendo's.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go to eat together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait, and neither can the boys.
> 
> I have been carried away by my Spanish blood.
> 
> Thanks to Pufferfish Yoghurt Starters for your support, and thank you AppleSeeds for being such a great and patient beta.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Crowley didn't know how he survived that hour as he listened to his young friends rave about the wedding he was helping organize., sitting at the table clinging to a steaming cup of tea, his knees inevitably bumping against the man he had just given his phone number to in the most absurd way imaginable. 

Aziraphale was not only stunning, he was charming as well. He spoke calmly and listened intently to Anathema and Newt, who were still deliberating on which dance to choose.

"Since there are still several months to go, why don't we try various styles of ballroom dancing?" Aziraphale suggested after hearing the eclectic couple's chaotic wedding concept. "From the classic waltz to something more modern."

"Oh that would be wonderful!" Anathema replied.

And honestly, Crowley didn't remember much else about the conversation until after the hour had passed and the four of them got up and Aziraphale led them out, saying goodbye to the couple until next Thursday.

The couple said their goodbyes, declining Crowley's offer to drive them, and the two men watched as Newt and Anathema, hand in hand again, headed down the street.

And then he realized he was alone with Aziraphale. He had spent the last hour looking at him, absorbed in his thoughts that were singing "He accepted my phone number! He accepted my phone number, he asked me to stay with them for this hour! He is going to call me!" Despite his age, Crowley felt like a teenager again, which was uncomfortable for many reasons. A teenager, whose mouth felt dry and whose heart was pounding in his chest, and whose mind had gone blank.

When was the last time Crowley had been at a loss for what to say?

"Your friends make an adorable couple," Aziraphale commented then, watching the couple disappear between the buildings.

"Yeah ... a little eccentric, but they're good people," Crowley replied, and Aziraphale gave him one of those bright and genuine smiles.

"A pagan wedding is certainly something to see ..."

Crowley smiled at him too.

"It's going to be an amazing wedding, those two deserve it."

For a second, the two of them were silent, looking and smiling at each other. Seriously, he hardly knew this man, what was it about Aziraphale that was pushing Crowley towards him hopelessly?

"Aziraphale ..."

"Crowley, I..."

They had both started talking at the same time and fell silent, giggling. Crowley had taken a step closer to Aziraphale, away from the Bentley.

"Excuse me. Please Aziraphale, tell me," Crowley invited the gorgeous man in front of him to speak.

"Oh dear, it's just... I was thinking..." Aziraphale cleared his throat and a tempting blush covered his pale cheeks. Crowley couldn't help but look at his lips as the blonde licked them lightly before continuing to speak. "I was just thinking, if you're free now and you want to, of course, I'd like to take you out for lunch."

Crowley looked at him, eyes wide.

"Of course, I don't want to assume ... if you have plans, I can always call you later, or tomorrow..."

"NO! I mean, yes!" stammered Crowley, raising his hands in an urge to reach Aziraphale but not quite touching him. "I would love to go to eat with you now, Aziraphale, I have no plans and ..." sighed the redhead, "having to wait three days to call someone on the phone seems silly to me."

Aziraphale beamed at him and his stomach made again silly things happen inside him.

"Oh Crowley, what would you say to some 'tapas'?" Aziraphale asked, his eyes shining brightly.

-

The place was a small establishment near the dance academy, decorated like an authentic Spanish tavern. Crowley smelled the wine and memories of his trip to Spain came back to him.

On the walls there were fans decorated with scenes and landscapes typical of Spain. Crowley recognized several of the cities shown on them and smiled.

"I had no idea this restaurant existed," he commented, turning to look at Aziraphale.

"Hm, it's a bit hidden, right? I know it thanks to Tracy, she was dating the owner for a while, when she decided to learn sevillanas, I'm glad that’s over, really." Aziraphale joked, seconds before a short, stocky man with a round face greeted them with an exaggerated smile. He led them to a table and handed them the menu.

Crowley was looking at Aziraphale over the menu, watching those blue eyes studying the options, when a scream startled them both.

" _ Señor _ Aziraphale!" A man in his late sixties came out of the kitchen, his chef's attire impeccable, and approached the table where they were sitting.

Aziraphale stood up with a shy smile and the man, who moved with an uncharacteristic fluidity for his age, stood in front of the blond and gave him two loud kisses on the cheeks. " _ Amigo mío _ !" he said in Spanish, and then, with a strong accent, "How are you? I haven't seen you around here for centuries? How is the beautiful Madame Tracy?"

The man spoke quickly and with a thick accent, and before allowing Aziraphale to answer any of the questions, he noticed Crowley.

"Another  _ amigo _ ! Wonderful!" The man made a fuss and, startled, Crowley got up and, blinking in surprise, let the chef give him two kisses on both cheeks. "What a delight to see that  _ señor _ Aziraphale is accompanied this time! You are not Tracy but you are not bad, tall and thin, yes, quite a gentleman. My name is Don Mendo Campoamor,  _ señor _ , nice to meet you. Forget the menu, I’m going to bring you the best 'tapas' of my longed-for land.”

And just like that, the chef returned to the kitchen, shouting something in Spanish to the short, bald waiter who had served them.

"That was ..." Crowley began, searching for the right words.

"Don Mendo tends to be a bit dramatic, yes," Aziraphale laughed, sitting up again. "Tracy complained that he wouldn't stop talking, and she dated him for a couple of years."

"Then why was she with him for so long?" Crowley asked, dismayed, even without knowing this Tracy.

Aziraphale did not reply, and Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale's face wore a mocking smile and he had a raised eyebrow, looking at him mischievously.

"What ...? Oh ... OH!" Crowley began to laugh.

"Yes, Don Mendo wasn't interested in sevillanas like Tracy, but apparently he  _ was _ interested in a certain type of dance more horizontal. He was quite good at it, I heard," Aziraphale commented in a low voice, laughing and blushing.

Crowley snorted outright. "Lucky Tracy then!" he said between laughter.

"Indeed," Aziraphale smiled, as the waiter poured two glasses of wine and set the bottle on the table, silently walking away to attend to other diners.

Crowley picked up the bottle before taking a sip from his glass.

"Hm, a good Rioja, I haven't had one in a long time," Crowley commented, trying to ignore the adorable blush on Aziraphale's cheeks.

"Do you know about wines?" the blond asked then, placing his glass on the table after taking a sip.

"A little," admitted Crowley, who had a selection of wines at home. "I got used to it a few years ago, and I've learned a bit about them."

Aziraphale briefly licked his lips and his blue eyes gazed at Crowley curiously.

"So have I. I've sincerely come to appreciate it over the years."

-

The food kept appearing. Iberian ham, cured and salty. Homemade cabrales cheese croquettes. Some mussels battered in the shell and fried, which Crowley had never tasted. Octopus in vinaigrette. A selection of cheeses and crusty bread.

Everything was delicious, but Crowley could barely focus on the taste, not having Aziraphale in front of him tasting those delicacies. Aziraphale's lips were slightly crimson from the wine, and his tongue darted between them from time to time, trying to catch each taste. And then Aziraphale tasted a fine slice of marbled ham, and his eyes closed in pure delight. A slight but audible moan came from the dance teacher and Crowley stopped breathing.

_ Someone, please have mercy on me _ , he prayed silently.

When Aziraphale opened his eyes Crowley didn't even pretend not to be looking at him, and the blonde smiled at him.

"My dear, please try the ham, it is divine, it melts like butter on the tongue."

Crowley, who could feel his face burning and his pulse quicken by the minute, thought he was fainting from a superhuman effort trying not to think of Aziraphale's tongue.

  
  


***

  
  


Aziraphale had eaten too much, not used to indulgences like this on weekdays. He was also not used to laughing and chatting with a man who was intelligent, funny and, it cannot be denied, attractive as anything.

He had feared at first that Crowley would decline the invitation to eat together, and he had been nervous at first, Aziraphale didn't understand why, but as they talked and ate (and drank) Crowley had relaxed and they had fallen into a nice and fluent conversation.

Crowley asked him about dance, the academy and Tracy, and Aziraphale had asked him about his work as well, about Anathema and Newt, and about his travels. The way he spoke, moving his hands and raising his eyebrows, had mesmerized Aziraphale, who felt Crowley's deep voice envelop him.

"And because of that, I left my position as Director of Marketing and Commerce." Crowley took another sip, finishing his glass of wine.

"Oh your colleagues Hastur and Ligur... I can't believe they went after you like that, it's quite aggressive." Aziraphale pointed, looking into those incredible amber eyes in front of him.

"Hm, they were very competitive and wanted my position at all costs," Crowley agreed, but a sincere smile drew his lips and Aziraphale felt butterflies flutter inside him.

"Leaving that job, the best decision of my life, no doubt," Crowley added, sighing placidly.

The man, sitting in the strangest way possible, with his long legs sprawled and his back reclined, with one arm draped over the back of the chair, was a wonderful sight of strange comfort.

Aziraphale's phone alarm rang, reminding him that he had an academy to open.

"Oh bugger," he muttered under his breath, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and stuck to it, the note with Crowley's phone number.

He quickly turned off the alarm and glanced at the note, shot a fleeting glance at Crowley, who was staring at him with wide eyes and biting his lower lip, and began to type something on his phone.

Just a minute later, Crowley's phone vibrated in his (incredibly tight) pants, and after scrambling to get the phone out, he looked at the screen and grinned.

  
  
  


Aziraphale and Crowley headed towards the academy again, their arms briefly brushing as they walked. The lively conversation had led to a comfortable silence, although Aziraphale was disappointed to have to say goodbye to Crowley so soon. By the time they reached the door of the dance academy, Aziraphale had already thought of several plans to share with Crowley, and was smiling sheepishly at the thought.

"Thank you for inviting me to stay, earlier, with Newt and Anathema. And for inviting me to lunch. And for accepting my phone number..." Crowley muttered under his breath. He had put on his sunglasses when he went outside and now, with his back to his Bentley, he avoided looking at Aziraphale, his hands hidden in his pockets.

How could a man like him feel shy? Aziraphale didn't understand it, but it made his stomach flip.

"My pleasure," beamed Aziraphale.

Crowley finally looked at him again, lifting his glasses and setting them on his head. His amber eyes gazed at him intently and, feeling mesmerised (and slightly brave after the wine), Aziraphale took a step toward him, raising one of his hands. Crowley did not move away, but took another step toward him, and Aziraphale's hand found itself resting on his shoulder. Crowley's warmth and the scent of his cologne intoxicated him. He watched Crowley's pupils widen as they studied Aziraphale's face, from his eyes to his lips to his eyes again.

"May I ...?" Aziraphale began to ask, his knees buckling slightly.

Crowley swallowed visibly and, without adding another word, leaned down and closed the distance between him and Aziraphale.

His lips were soft and warm, and Aziraphale melted into the kiss. Crowley's hands settled on his arms, up to his shoulders, and finally cupped Aziraphale's face, gently, just a light touch, and Aziraphale felt chills all over his body.

They reluctantly parted, gasping for breath, and smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we haven't danced for a couple of weeks, but that will be fixed soon.
> 
> Thank you all very much for reading!  
> Go to say hello on Twitter: @oniria_creation.

**Author's Note:**

> Wahoo!   
> The first chapter and the first dance class has concluded!  
> More dancing and more music coming soon!
> 
> The title of the fic is inspired by the Aziraphale phrase "you just have to tell me with your body what you want me to do", and of course, referring to the song of the same name by Queen.
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on Twitter: @Oniria_Creation.


End file.
